Whither come the horsemen

I want to shake this feeling, or more accurately, these feelings. I'm an hour and a half away from departing for the airport and the beginning of 2 weeks away from a job that I desperately need a break from and the very ground upon which I stand feels like some great cosmic bowl of Jello.

I'm not usually prone to pre trip jitters and I don't believe that this is what it is about. Maybe it's the lack of sleep over the last few days, but I suspect that sleep deprivation is a symptom of some greater unsettling. I recognize that it might simply be the stirring of waters long stilled that lay at the core of this disquiet - perhaps its external. It is not so much an active energy, but more like a potential energy - like being on the downstream side of a dam knowing the power that waits behind the concrete.

This is no friggin' way to start a vacation.

I'm outta here!

Sheesh! I am coming back!

It is, however, vacation time! Every year, need it or not. Two weeks of glorious...oh wait...that was somebody else's vacation...silly me...

Yes, I'm taking you along - you, the laptop, cameras and associated gear and 1400 dog biscuits! I foresee blogging from Starbucks =)~ or anywhere else with wireless.

Dad duty first - we already know we're gonna work our butts off for a week, but it needs doing!

Then Sunday to Friday on the Big Island... Hawaii that is - lava flows and Kona coffee! Woo Hoo! I'm seriously concerned that I won't return to the mainland.

BTW - there will be an epilog of sorts for this series of poems that you have so graciously endured.

In the wake

In the wake


The coat I knew
first glance
reality severed in an instant

How? I thought
I long to touch
no! it can’t be so

Must I look?
I must
black hem brushes calf

I will not stare
I will
ebony collar beneath bronze locks

Reality searing
on a turn
not her - yearning so

Blind - a phalange shroud
I hear
another plane breaking bounds

jf '97

Awning drips

awning drips


time slipping
toward awkward end
mist closing round
neither sure of the other’s intent

I, complaining of failing eyes
you, taking glasses, assessing my complaint

had they been my eyes
you would see you as I do
with lenses ground not by machine
but shaped instead by desire

and you would know why I persist

jf '97

Waiting

bellman banter

"May I be of service, sir?"

"No, I'm waiting."

"On what, sir?"

"On who."

"Who, sir?"

"I'm not sure."

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"I'm not."

jf '97

I originally published this in February, but it belongs with the others I just published - all threads of the same fabric.

a little lie

a little lie

“What will you tell Conscience?”
“The truth,” I reply
know that a lie
not by intent or design
but by default

truth not in the telling
but where the heart resides
and how the spirit sighs

jf '97

Boo-hunch, lunch and a tropical breeze

I am often prone to cynicism and doubly so regarding meeting new people. I’m here to stand flatfooted and say that “no” cynicism was applicable to the meet-up I had with Maine’s very own Boo-hunch.

We had agreed to meet on Wednesday and since my office was not far from where she was staying it was decided that I come pick her up at the motel. The phone conversation was easy enough and our first meeting was as if we had known each other for a very long time, slipping into a running conversation for the next several hours. Boo has an easy smile and manner and the afternoon had “good vibe” written all over it.

Neither of us had eaten and it was 1PM so the first order of business was FOOD! Her only request was “no fast food” – which was more than fine by me! We were so hungry that dithering over restaurants was out of the question and Bahama Breezes got the favoring nod. Good food, good company and a doting waitress. The conversation ran the gamut between blogging, bloggers (yep we talked about…YOU!) as well as life, love (or lack thereof) and locale!

She was disappointed that I had not brought the Buffledog, but hot weather and circumstances at the plant prevented me from bringing him along. We decided to go by the house and pick him up however and he was his stumbly, bumbly and enthusiastic, butt wiggling, tail wagging self and bonded with Boo right away. So quick tours of the house and yard ensued and we were off to do some of the “100 things that you must absolutely do while in Seattle”. I’m sure she will give a much better perspective on those things than I can – me being the “local” now.

We did enjoy all those touristy sorts of things and the Buffledog was VERY glad for an outing. Boo did get to witness first hand the trials of “Buffledom” while one is on the business end of the leash. It has to do with adopting the mindset of not being in a hurry due to the endless parade of people and their questions about his Buffleness – the most common being: “What kind of dog is that?” and “Is that a Saint Bernard?” and my (and the Buffledog's) personal favorite by children “Can I pet him?” I am going to get the T-shirt that reads, “I’m a Bernese Mountain Dog, I’m not a Saint!”

The time went by all too fast and I had to deliver Boo into the waiting arms of her cousin.

So, if you are lucky, you too will have the outstanding opportunity to spend a wonderful afternoon in the warmth of Boo’s Boo-ness. She says she had a good time on our wet (not!) coast and certain that we’ll see her out here again someday – I believe I believe her!

Java Space

java space

we sip to fill
gaps between words
that come so hard
sidewalk table props
on street side stage
forgotten lines
and
cues gone wrong

who cast this play?
when was rehearsal?

jf '97

The shell on our backs - part VI (Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump)

Update at bottom of post (7/17/05)

We reluctantly left Fort Peck and continued west on US 2. We had overstayed our allotted time at the dam, wanting to make Havre, MT before nightfall. There was nothing in particular that Havre was chosen as the stopping place other than it looked to be the most promising for accommodations for the coach. There was a big storm approaching from the west and we’d hope to make camp before it hit. Like the ocean, judging time and distance in the Big Sky country can only be done accurately by virtue of experience, of which we had none. So we watched the distant lightening display with both fascination and trepidation.

Fortunately we did make Havre before the storm hit, but dark had already fallen and we were getting a bit nervous. We began to see signs for a casino with overnight parking for motor homes and campers and thought, “How much could they charge, if any?” Now, we were used to paying anywhere between $4 and $15 (unless it was free) and pulled into the casino parking lot and pulled right back out after learning we were about to get soaked for $38. Sure they had lights and full hook-ups, but dammit, they weren’t getting that much of our precious money – it was the principle of the thing. Now what?

Driving west we were looking for a rest stop, a Wal-mart, a truck stop – anything. All we saw was the approaching storm and drainage ditches along the road. We would have settled for a church parking lot by then. It was serendipitous that we spotted a very small sign pointing toward the Fresno Dam and lake on the Milk River and made a “Hail Mary” right turn up a gravel road – the sign neglecting to tell us about how far it was. Our luck was running before us and it was only a couple of miles and there was a deserted campground right above the dam. The storm had yet to hit but we were beginning to hear thunder.

After a hasty meal and battening down the hatches the storm was upon us. No rain but the wind and lightening were enough. The strikes were coming very quickly and even though they were still very far away it was like being in a huge strobe light concert. Now you may hereafter dub us as “dumb as posts” and deserving of a Darwin Award, because it was during this storm our passions rose and although we started inside the relative safety of the coach some incubus called us out to the picnic table – us, the lightening and the big open. It was stupid, sublime, frightening, passionate and most of all INTENSE! Yes we questioned our sanity afterwards, but we never forgot that evening in what turned out to be the beginning of some of the best sites we found on the trip – and they were FREE!

Fresno Dam

The next morning dawned clear, the air clean after the storm and we once again were heading toward western Montana and Glacier National Park. We enjoyed the ride on through the morning, blissing on the previous night’s adventures and the farther west we rode the more animated our conversations were. We stopped in Browning on the Blackfoot Indian Reservation and visited a Native American museum that occupied an old school house. Although we thoroughly enjoyed the museum it was the hour conversation we had with Two Skins that was far more enlightening and informative. The conversation started after learning we were from Georgia and it turns out that his daughter was graduating from the University of Georgia with a law degree. What we learned about the life on the reservation was both heartening and disheartening at the same time. We certainly came away with a mish-mash of feelings.

By the time we were passing through Kiowa we were already impressed by what we could see of Glacier Park and certainly confirmed by the time we were in St. Mary. We were so looking forward to the park but we had reservations near Waterton-Glacier on the Canadian side and we had a ways to go yet. This was the first true altitude test for the coach and it did the 6000+ feet in fine style. We started out awestruck with the sheer grandeur of the park this day and stayed that way for the rest of our week there. We blithely approached the border, having been through this many times before and were cleared to cross when a Canadian Customs agent noticed the firewood we had gathered in the back of the pick-up truck. We were politely informed that we had to surrender the firewood because of a Dutch Elm disease scare so we had to off-load into a huge dumpster like container that was half full of everyone else’s firewood that had been confiscated. We sweetly asked if we could get it back upon our return and were politely told, “yes, you can have *yours* back”! We eyed the container and drove on knowing that we would never see that wood again – although we did wave at it occasionally as we crossed the border over the next week.

There is little I can say about Glacier National Park that hasn’t been said in all the travel/park guides around. What I can say is that if you never do another national park, do this one. The place is “drop dead gorgeous”! It’s busy but not to the scale that Yellowstone or the Grand Canyon is busy. If you saw nothing but the mountains it would be worth the trip – but there is so much more!

There is the “old lodge and park” atmosphere that is pervasive throughout, peppered with sightings of late 30s red tour buses. The ever present “watch out for…” signs where you fill in the name of the wildlife of the day. There was an abundance of places to stop and get up front and personal with the flora and occasional fauna. Then there was the color of the lake waters that had been like no other we’d seen back east.

Going-to-the-Sun Road

The Going-to-the-Sun Road is truly an engineering marvel rising to nearly 6700 feet at Logan Pass. There is a constantly changing eco-system around each bend and is not a road that even the most jaded traveler could dismiss as boring. Wide vistas, rock-scapes, snow-scapes, cloud-scapes and fauna-scapes kept us entertained even though we became mired in a traffic jam because of a mudslide on the west side of the pass. We were close enough to the summit to not turn around and were very glad we persevered.

Geese Island - St. Mary Lake

When we finally arrived at the visitor’s center parking lot we were greeted by “Billy (da King) Goat”. This was “HIS” parking lot – no question. After wandering around a too full visitor’s center we’d had enough people and went outside following our noses and started up what appeared to be a fairly well traveled trail. So we are slipping across the snow fields being greeted by others heading back who simply said, “Keep going, not far, it’s worth it!” Fueled by their enthusiasm and the need to keep moving (remember I said “snow fields”) to ward off a chill we kept going. Several others said almost the same encouragements and we soon found ourselves on a fairly level meandering path amongst the rock and alpine vegetation. Do you ever get those feelings that you are being watched or followed? Well, we both got that feeling at the same time and turned around to find a whole family of mountain goats coming up on our rear. Once the surprise was over we moved aside and they just wandered right on by within petting distance. It finally dawned on us what the little tuffs of white we were seeing in the bushes were since some were in full molt.

My Parking Lot!

We had seen several other groups of mountain goats and sat to take some photos when next to us the rocks began to move. It took a few seconds to realize that they were some big rodent like creature and out comes the handy-dandy field guide. Aw! It was our first marmot experience. Hoary marmots and they were everywhere – marmot Mecca – chowing down on whatever suits the marmot palate. They were cute and not very shy. There was also a variety of ground squirrels that kept looking for handouts and were very brazen in their request. Another group came by and said again, “Keep on going!”

We resumed our slow trek and sure enough, we round a bend in the trail revealing the most spectacular landscape of mountains, valleys, snow, green grass and bushes only to be punctuated with a stunning lake – Hidden Lake. The scene is one of those quintessential views that epitomizes the grace and grandeur of Glacier National Park. We stayed for a long time just awestruck. Finally recovered enough o actually take some photos and looked down to see yet another huge male goat hanging out on a very precarious ledge just below us – totally unconcerned by our presence. Totally blissed out by all this magnificent eye candy we headed back only to tell all on the trail heading toward us to “keep going, it’s worth it!”

Hidden Lake

Puzzle: Find the hikers and then the goat they are following!

The day was not without some stress however; a Good Samaritan gesture of taking a couple of kids separated from their bike group all the way down the west side put us in a rush to make the border before it closed at 10 PM. Realizing as we left St. Mary that the effort was futile to make the “17” crossing we turned east and went for the next crossing that closed at 11. Now you have to picture two wet, weary and otherwise bedraggled people arriving at the border at 10:50, probably looking wild eyed from adrenaline and asking for admission to our northern neighbor.
“How long are you going to be in Canada?”
“2, maybe 3 weeks.” (same answer we’d given the day we crossed in the motor home)
Agent shines light in back of cab extension and looks in pick-up bed.
“Please pull up underneath those lights.”
“Uh, ok.”
We were asked to get out and they started looking through the truck cab. Then they started taking the door panels off; first the driver’s side and then the passenger side. Yes, we were very nervous – not that we had any contraband, but they were tearing our faithful truck apart. A different agent, a woman in her 30s, steps up to us and engages us in conversation as we watch our truck slowly disintegrate.
“So where are you going to be staying in Canada?”
“Well, after we leave Waterton Homestead we…”
“Is that where you are camping?”
“Yes ma’am. Our motor home is there. A big Winn….”
“So, why are you crossing here? How long have you been there?”
After several more questions she tells the other agent to stop disemboweling the Mazda and looks at us and says, “Why didn’t you say you were already in Canada?”
“Ma’am (bitch) your partner (bastard) didn’t give us a (fucking) chance to.”
She gave us some sage advice about “full disclosure” (yeah, if we’d been given the fucking chance) and all they saw was two people without enough luggage to stay for several weeks in Canada.
“Eh?” (WTF are we getting the “Eh?” for? Eh?)
“Yes ma’am (bitch).”
They did help us reassemble the truck; which I now understand never happens. Well, we spent the next 20 minutes bitching and moaning with a lot of other expletives thrown in for good measure – at least one to counter every “Eh?” eh?

Sunrise at Waterton Homestead

The next morning’s sunrise made up for every distasteful minute of the previous night and I was up and out early with the trusty Pentax. There were several children up and playing on and around the hill behind the campground office and used-to-be pool. They were playing with a young coyote pup that had adopted the campground and its inhabitants after the mother was hit by a truck on the highway. The following set of photos were taken then and this pup was entirely too cute. The pup was exhausted by mid-morning and settled in for a nap near the laundry room. The pup continued to be and play for the duration of our visit. We did learn that he was going to a game preserve in Alberta somewhere and it would happen in the next week.

Six month old orphaned Coyote pup and kids from camp
They're not just wild anymore!

We spent our last evening there with a couple from Houston who were on an identical trip as we were. The only real difference was that they were towing a 5th wheel trailer rather than driving a motor home. The reasons for doing it were the same and their age was the same as ours. Upon leaving the next day they were going toward Alaska and we were going to Edmonton. We play the evening away with the coyote pup while sitting around the community campfire (there was a fire ban in effect) listening to bad jokes, good music and goo-ing up on roasted marshmallows. We reluctantly said goodbye.

Vertical windmill experimental station

The next morning took us north and east on a remarkably well maintained gravel road. The map showed only a couple of miles until pavement and 25 miles later we were still sandblasting the windshield of the Mazda. We had not seen another living soul for an hour until we saw a red pick-up coming up on us fast – actually we were poking along at 25-30 MPH on the gravel. It turned out to be Joe and Margaret, the couple from Houston and we chatted as we slowly kept driving trying to avoid the inevitable dust cloud. We talked about the road and they encouraged us to join them at a World Heritage Site locate outside of Fort Macleod called “Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump”. What?! They went on to describe it and we agreed to meet them there. They sped on ahead and we hung back long enough to lose the dust cloud.

Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump - it's actually a 150 foot cliff in the distance

We learned on arrival that this was where the aboriginal peoples drove the buffalo up a gently upward sloping plain toward a 150 foot sheer drop. It was grizzly and fascinating all at the same time. We spent the rest of the morning on the grounds and in the interpretive center. Said our goodbye’s to our new friends, to the spirit of thousands of buffalo who met such a tragic end and to the peoples who were clever enough to figure out such brutal efficiency.

With the mountains behind us we set out for Edmonton, Alberta and our youngest child.

Update for Julz: 7/17/05

Marmot at Logan Pass

YAY! HUMP DAY!

Did you know that one can fly to Hawaii from Seattle cheaper than one can fly to the east coast? WTF is up with that? I know that the price of fuel has risen, but does that account for double the price for a ticket? Let’s see if I’ve got this straight: we get less room on the “cattle car”, we are tossed a bag of mystery gorp and glared at if we dare ask for water, flights are routinely off schedule, yadda, yadda, yadda! And now as an added “bonus” we get to pay twice what we were paying 4 months ago. Think Wal-Mart employees are surly? Try today’s domestic airlines – they’ve done post-grad in “surly” and “ineptitude”.

Sorry family – we’re going to Hawaii!

Tonight - new travel post!

Interlude

Because this cracks me up every time I see it!
Happy week ya'll!

The shell on our backs - part V

We are not going to travel very far this time – three states to be precise and end up in eastern Montana exploring the expanse and magnificence of Fort Peck Dam on the Missouri River. This particular segment has deep family significance so bear with me if you will.

We had been thoroughly buffalo-ed, burro-ed and prairie dogged and decided to leave that little piece of God’s country. We were beginning to notice that we had been in open space or wilderness long enough that we were loathe traveling through Rapid City even and were glad when business was done there and the open road lay before us. Not far from there, however, was Sturgis and it was just a few days away from the annual bike rally and a tsunami sized population explosion of a normally small, quiet western town. The swell of humanity was already happening and we got to witness a miniscule portion of what was to come. Colorful it was and we enjoyed shopping the street vendors without the cloying press of people. I would love to go back for the rally week itself, but it’ll be another year.

courtesy of SturgisZone.com

We left Sturgis and there was a remarkable amount of bikes coming toward us on the I-90 and there was every variety of biker that you could imagine and then some. We turned north on US 85 and said goodbye to the endless parade of machine, man and a lot of mostly naked biker babes, trading one genre of eye-candy for another – the geographical kind.

This road north proved to be one of the more wonderful and bizarre experiences of the trip. We were in “Big Sky Country” and that is what we saw, an abundance of sky, grassland and long stretches of highway. What was so remarkable was what we didn’t see – people! We drove for almost 3 hours on a major US highway, US 85, and saw nary a car, truck, tractor, baby carriage or skateboard. After a while we began to feel like we were in some episode of the “Twilight Zone”. Even passing through little burgs like Redig and Buffalo we saw parked vehicles and little movement. No cars until Bowman, ND.

After seeing the Badlands of South Dakota we marveled at the same geography but coated in green vegetation. We found it more beautiful and far more unique than the SD version. It is hard to adequately describe the blasted land beneath the soft down of green grass and low shrub.

We skirted along the edge of the Little Missouri National Grassland and the Theodore Roosevelt National Park. It was awesome seeing the endless undulation of grass; rich, verdant and inviting a hike, a run, a romp and a roll in the uncut hay! It was magical, mystical and gave a sense of what the land must have been like before we, the Caucasian spoilers, tread upon it – raped and otherwise pillaged such magnificence. It was exhilarating and woefully sad all at the same time.

Recent and copious amounts of rain had created flood conditions in and around Williston, ND and there were places where the waters were at the edge of the road. “Joe-Bob”, the friendly trooper, assured us that our travels would on “dry” pavement as the waters were beginning to recede. We witness one of the most vivid sunsets to that point in the trip where a cold snap and 40 MPH winds had washed the lower atmosphere crystal clear. So we stopped, watched the sun set while dressed in very warm clothing to ward off the 30 + degree chill; refusing to turn on the coach heater on general principles- it was July damn it!

Seeing that we were not far from the line we drove on to Montana and took on the challenge of a place to stop. We drove on through the gathering darkness and found respite in Brockton – a free camping lot owned by the town. We found out the next day it’s the only one for many miles and we felt fortunate to have seen the “tiny” sign that led us to this lot in the middle of a residential neighborhood. The next morning brought a wonderful exchange of information with a family who were traveling in the opposite direction and we got the skinny on conditions all the way to St. Mary and Glacier Park. We walked about the neighborhood and were warmly greeted by most folk and were gifted with some bran muffins fresh from the oven by a couple who had relatives in Georgia. The couple had noticed our license plates the night before.

We ran across this classic example of recycle near Nashua, MT and it has stuck with us since. It used old train cars for housing and retail space for a colony of artist and surrounded a huge elevated deck that connected them all. It was just cool to see it.

We were not far from Glasgow and the Fort Peck Dam, a destination I had been looking forward to since the beginning of the trip. I had heard so many stories about Glasgow and Fort Peck growing up that as soon as we came into town things were recognizable. I felt as though I had been there, but alas, I had not!

You see, my mother lived in Fort Peck during part of her youth since my Grandfather worked on the dam project. He was supervising the construction of Diversion Tunnel #2. Mom would talk about how the school would have field trips into the tunnels. There were rich discoveries of fossils during the construction, including a mostly intact Triceratops as well as many other prehistoric artifacts. The big Tri is on display in the Powerhouse Museum. I remember thinking that there is no way that a school would allow such a field trip in today’s litigation happy world and how special that must have been. My mom certainly looked at that as a highlight of her youth and kept a lifelong fascination for fossils and minerals.

It is hard to even imagine the scale of this project without actually being there. There is a book, “Bucking the Sun” by Ivan Doig, that Varla Vixen introduced to me many years ago – but after this visit. It is a work of fiction but based on historical fact. Mom read the book and confirmed its factual accuracy. This is an “earthen dam” and is six miles across and just fades into perspective as you can see in the photo.

There are lots of anecdotal tales born from the construction of this dam: like “bowling” down the newly finished spillway, tragic deaths, visits by FDR, earth slides and lots of very frozen mud. The spillway was also the cover photo for the first issue of Life Magazine, November 23, 1936, and was photographed by the famed photographer Margaret Bourke-White. There is a wealth of information at Fort Peck Dam.com Typical for a boom town there are the ribald tales from the ever present “red light district”, lovers, muggers and thieves.

Many of the major structures of the town are still standing and restored. The Theater and the Recreation Hall have been painstakingly reconstructed and offer a glimpse into life in the early Thirties. Mom spent many an hour in both halls and fondly tells of the firemen flooding the tennis courts in the winter so they could ice skate. Her house, long since demolished, was right behind the Recreation Hall. It was like walking through my very own personal history book. I called Mom while we were wandering about town and she was so surprised that we would “bother” to go there! Ha! Her first question was, “Are there any trees?” She was again surprised that the town was full of them – there had only been a couple when she was there. She was a great long distance tour guide and had amazing recall of landmarks and buildings. I think she enjoyed doing that tour by proxy.

What really made this so poignant for me is that I never met my Grandfather. He died at the tender age of 45, but through the tales from my mom and grandmother, he lives in my memory as if I had known him. I think also that I feel close to him in that I inherited many of his attributes.

It was powerful walking through the town, to feel so connected to a place that I’d never been. It was awesome and humbling to walk across the lot where their house stood and to just be absorbed in the aura of the diversion tunnel. He left his mark on that project, on that town and now on my soul. He went on to other projects like the Grand Coulee Dam in Washington state after Fort Peck, but being there was a time that I’ll never forget and I felt like I got to know him in a very personal and intimate way as I walked those hallowed grounds.